hello. hi. hello.

May 23, 2007

When your wife asks you to do something, unless you’re an idiot, you put it off as long as possible and you remain obstinate and foolish and impervious to her logic and reason. Then you do it anyways, and claim it was your idea in the first place. That’s the point of becoming a husband.

On a completely different subject, I think I’ll write again. I must remind myself to ask Robin why she never suggested this.

Writing is, in many ways, not my favorite form of communication, mainly because it’s harder to lie. In conversation, I can say anything. Remember, Scott, when you wholeheartedly supported the Bush Administration and thought that Iraq was a good idea? What on Earth are you talking about? I never said anything of the kind. You must have me confused with someone else. Do I even know you?

Hypothetically, that could happen. Just like that.

But writing…writing is more difficult. You have to carefully retrace your steps, erode your original argument over careful months of planning, just to reverse a previously taken stance. Or, you could stop paying your webhost and erase thousands of entries and a million words painstakingly written over years. Neither is painless.

No one remembers what someone said yesterday, let alone a year or two ago. Try to think about the most important conversation you had yesterday. Could you even quote a few sentences, intact, with any level of precision? Probably not. I figured this out years ago, which led to my “what are you talking about, I never said that” arguing strategy.

Writing, on the other hand, can be so wounding. And why shouldn’t it be? after all, people spout hours of garbage to fill silences and gaps while sitting with friends. But you’ll see the same people poring over email drafts, spell-checking, changing verbs and adjectives. The written words are so more carefully chosen, and I guess it’s only fair they carry more weight. We’ve all developed the ability to smile or flirt away ill-chosen barbs accidentally dropped in conversation. You can’t wink away something written.

But it’s more permanent, which I guess makes up for it all. If it’s up to my wife to take all my photos, I guess I should at least write the captions.

So let’s see, what has happened…

I got married May 5th. Thoughts on the wedding:

How can we have such wonderful friends and family? I had drunken conversations with several parents over the course of the weekend, and they all commented on what a great group of friend we had. Well of course, I replied, we’ve carefully weeded out the bad characters, the bitter killjoys, and the joyless wonders over years and years. So, in my egotistical way, I take credit for my friends. My family, however, I have no illusions about. I am simply outstandingly lucky.

I think it was the best wedding food ever. I’m not joking. It was the only wedding salmon I’ve ever had that was cooked properly – medium rare, flavorful, well-seasoned. The roast beef was good as well, but I think I stopped worrying after the salmon.

Mint juleps – delicious.

I also just returned from my honeymoon. Thoughts on the honeymoon:

The Amalfi Coast was fantastic. Robin and I stayed at Il Nido, a villa technically in Ravello, but really just outside Minori. And there were so many great things I could mention about the Amalfi Coast, but my favorite might have been Franco, the garage operator/host/possible idiot savant owner of the Villa. By our second day, we were convinced he was the mayor of Minori. He spoke fragmented English sans connectors, verbs or adjectives. “Franco, car, apartament, bags, no problem!” People waved to him from the streets, “hey Franco!” Of course, there was also the great weather, charming towns, the Path of the Gods, and the food (mostly grilled by me on our patio and flavored simply with salt, balsamic vinegar, and the deliciously sweet local lemons that grew over the patio). But in retrospect, Franco is the glue that holds the whole Campania region together.

The Austrian Alps – beautiful, if a little rainy. I didn’t expect I’d like the region when we drove in Tuesday night, but then the next morning, the sun broke through during our drive through the hills, lighting up the alpine meadows. It looked like a damned yodel on canvas. I also realized then that Robin will be the photojournalist of my life. I rely on her to take all the pictures, to document everything. I’ve always liked the idea of a camera, yet worried too much about the safety of the camera in the hands of a possibly intoxicated photographer, or simply been too absentminded to pull the camera out of its bag or even to remember it in the first place. So, any memories I’ll have of those meadows will be due to her.

Munich – we stayed a few extra days, first at the Sofitel, then at le Meridien. Thankfully the two hotels were located across the street from each other, minimizing the chance of me losing my way driving from one to the next through various strasses and platzes. I’ve always loved Munich, for various reasons. First, everything is set up within walking distance, even if some walks are longer than others. The Deutsche Museum, particularly the mining exhibit, is phenomenal. And every place you go, someone is waiting for you in a shady courtyard waiting to serve you a beer. And a pretzel. The whole city is like a baseball game. Plus, they have big supermarkets, gas superstations, almost TOO much public transportation, and to-go coffee houses that shun the European sense of lounging and luxuriously slow service. Germany certainly seems to have adopted some of the more convenient aspects of American life.